


The Grain Underneath The Grit

by Ribbons_Undone



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Banter, Confessions, First Time, Light Bondage, M/M, Teasing, maximum of porn, minimum of plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:14:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24238624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ribbons_Undone/pseuds/Ribbons_Undone
Summary: Episode tag 3x07. Dean thought he'd take this secret to the grave. So did Sam.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Comments: 1
Kudos: 89





	The Grain Underneath The Grit

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Figured I'd take my AO3 virginity and the Winchester boys' at the same time.
> 
> I'm super excited to post this! This is probably the first time I've posted something the same day I wrote it. What can I say? Kripke is a muse...
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing except that which lies between my ears.
> 
> Lot of firsts happening here. Loving it. Enjoy!

_The Grain Underneath The Grit_

“Sam, about before.” Dean cleared his throat, looking down at his grease-covered hands. They had spent the entire day working on the Impala, Dean showing Sam everything he could about his baby.

“Yeah, Dean?” Sam asked, looking up.

They were back at the motel for the night—a different one from last night. After the thing with Gordon went down, they spooked and got the hell out of dodge. But everything Sam had said to him when the hunt had been on still weighed heavy on Dean’s mind.

“I, uh… about what happened back there. I get it, you’re angry at me—”

“I’m not angry at you, Dean,” Sam said, giving him that look of his—all puppy-dog eyes and tight, pained smile and eyebrows crashing down that wide forehead of his.

“Well, I would be,” Dean said softly, tossing the grease rag down on the desk. “Hell, I’m pissed at myself.”

He stood with his back to Sam, gazing down at the solid oak desk in their crappy motel room. The surface was scratched and stained from many years of misuse, and at the moment, Dean kind of felt like he could relate.

“You were right, Sammy,” he admitted, “I am scared.”

He looked up into the mirror above the desk, catching the look in Sam’s eyes. The pain deepening, his strong cheek bones flexing as he clenched and unclenched his jaw.

“Dean—” Sam started.

“You know, when I did it—when I brought you back…” Dean broke off, dropping his eyes again to the surface of the desk. He trailed one of the deepest scratches with his finger, mouth working against the emotion rising in his throat as he tried to say what he wanted Sam to hear. “I didn’t think there could be anything worse than not having you by my side.”

“I know, Dean,” Sam said quietly, “You don’t have to explain it to me, I get it.”

“No, you don’t, Sam,” Dean said, the words hard and demanding to be heard. “I thought losing you once was hard. I thought—it didn’t matter if I only had a year to live, long as I had you with me.”

He traced along the desk again, following the natural lines in the wood this time. The beauty underneath the grime, the grain beneath the grit.

“I wasn’t going to tell you, I was just going to enjoy the time we had left,” Dean said.

“I would have known something was wrong, Dean,” Sam said from behind him.

“I know,” Dean replied quietly, his head still bowed to the desk. He kept his eyes fixated on the scratches running along its surface, anchoring him to the world just as he felt it slowly slipping away. “But I still thought I could do it.”

“Dumbass,” came Sam’s light insult.

Dean laughed, nodding his head.

“Yeah, I’m a huge dumbass,” he admitted. “Cuz now it feels like I’m losing you every second.”

“Dean.” Sam stepped up behind him, placing a large hand on his shoulder.

Dean hung his head and gripped the edges of the desk, leaning into the solid wood and trying to blink back the tears threatening to go all Gilmore Girls on him. He didn’t know how to say everything he wanted to say, so instead he gave a manly sniff and turned around, tossing the grease rag aside and hopping up to sit on the desk.

The look Sam gave him nearly broke his heart. Man, but he was always fucking things up with his little brother. And it wasn’t going to end there, because—

“I love you, Sammy,” he said.

Sam was nodding, blinking back the tears. “I know, Dean,” he said, “I love you too, man.”

“No, I mean…”

Dean looked away, wiping at his lips with his thumb and feeling the heat rising up his neck. He turned back and pinned Sam with a steady gaze.

“I mean, I _love_ you, Sammy.”

Sam stared at him, his mouth dropping open a little in shock. Dean swallowed and looked up at him. There was want and need in his eyes, he knew, and he knew Sam could see it from the way his mouth clicked shut. Sam’s jaw muscles worked against his long cheekbones as he clenched and unclenched his teeth.

“Yeah,” Dean said, gaze dropping to his lap, “Thought I was taking that one to the grave too.”

“You suck at keeping secrets from me, man,” Sammy said, laughing a little. His voice was rough though, raw and emotional.

“Yeah,” Dean said again.

“You know, I—” Sam started, but had to swallow halfway through to keep the tears at bay. “I thought I’d be taking that one to your grave too.”

“You knew?” Dean started, his head snapping up so he could meet Sam’s eyes. “How the hell did you—”

“Uh, no, I didn’t know,” Sam corrected, looking away. He ran his thumb under his eye, trying to make it look like he had an itch but it was a pretty bad cover. “I, uh, didn’t think you felt the same,” he admitted lightly.

“So then you—”

“Why do you think I’ve been so angry at you, Dean?” Sam asked, pinning him with a pointed look. “You really are dumb as nails, sometimes.”

“Huh,” Dean said, blinking. He licked his lips. “So you _are_ angry with me,” he said. He gave Sam a little grin, like he always did when he was right, and Sam was wrong.

Sam scoffed at him, and for once his brother’s know-it-all attitude didn’t bother him quite as much as it usually did.

“Jerk,” he blurted.

“Bitch.”

Dean grinned at him widely, the smile going all the way up to his eyes. They crinkled at the edges, his beautiful green eyes bright with mirth under his long, full lashes.

Sam stepped closer to him, bringing his hand up to hold the side of Dean’s face in his large palm.

“One year, Dean,” Sam said, searching his brother’s eyes. They had gone smoky and serious as soon as Sam touched him. “What do you say we make the most of it, yeah?”

He didn’t wait for Dean’s reply, just bent down and captured his brother’s lips with his mouth. Dean was unresponsive at first, frozen and stiff under Sam’s hand, and then when Sam moved his mouth against Dean’s lips for a second time, Dean melted and his mouth dropped open. Sam pushed his tongue inside, rolling it against Dean’s, and then pulling back to suck and bite at his lower lip. Dean made a noise—a sort of half-grunt, half groan and pressed against Sam, who now had his hand behind Dean’s head and his other in the middle of his back, pressing them together.

He was pinned between Dean’s knees, Dean still sitting on the edge of the desk. Sam broke the kiss and leaned away, breathing heavily. The hand at Dean’s back now rested on his brother’s leg as his other ruffled Dean’s short, dirty-blond hair. Dean’s lashes looked deep and lush over half-lidded eyes as he looked up at Sam, his mouth half open and his eyes hazy with passion.

“God, you’re beautiful, you know that?” Sam said, running his hand up the back of Dean’s head. Dean leaned into the touch and let out a short puff of air. His eyes fluttered closed. When they opened, they were flirty and a little cocky.

“Yeah, I know,” he said. He gave Sam a half-lopsided grin, his mouth still open. White teeth showed behind the curve of his lips—lips that twitched as if they were trying to say something in the language of sex.

Sam’s mouth smashed into them hard, like two pieces of a magnet snapping together, or an anvil coming down on a solid wood gravel. He caught Dean’s teeth against his by accident, but ignored it and moved until their mouths and tongues fit together the way they were meant to.

This time it was Dean who pulled back, panting lightly as he balled his fist in Sam’s tee.

“Bed,” he gasped, looking at Sam under heavily-lidded eyes.

“No,” Sam said.

Dean froze, his whole body stiffening. Rejection flooded into his eyes, his brow pinching together as the hurt spread across his face. Sam chuckled and kissed him under his jaw, nipping at the tender flesh and rubbing his cheek against the scruff of Dean’s neck lovingly.

“Desk,” he said against Dean’s skin.

Dean’s hips jerked forward at that, involuntary and desperate. Sam placed his hands on his hips, thumbs digging into the waistband of Dean’s denim pants.

“Whore,” he teased.

“Bitch,” Dean breathed into his ear.

The air stilled, and something shifted. Their bantering was so natural, so easy. It was like they had done this a million times before, even though this was without a doubt their first go.

“How long you been wanting this?” Sam asked in Dean’s ear. He hung his lips open around the soft appendage, breathing hot air into it and teasing it with his tongue. Dean squirmed a little and moaned, pressing his ear into Sam’s mouth.

“Dunno,” Dean said, his voice husky, “Maybe Stanford, maybe when Dad died. It crept up on me.”

“So, a couple years?” Sam clarified.

“Yeah.”

“Hm.” Sam hummed and pressed his lips just under Dean’s ear, sucking at the skin.

“’Bout you, Sammy?” Dean asked, distracted by Sam’s mouth on his skin.

“Same,” Sam replied. “After Jess, after Dad—” he broke off, trailing his tongue down the strong muscles in his brother’s neck. “And then the deal…” he said quietly against Dean’s skin.

He pulled back, the mood momentarily shattered, and looked into Dean’s eyes. They were sad, and full of longing and regret. Sam wondered how his looked—probably the same but also drowning in loss and love.

“Sorry,” Dean mumbled, looking away. Sam brought his hand against the side of Dean’s face and turned it back to him.

“I’m not,” he said, gently. He leaned down again, placing a chaste kiss against Dean’s open mouth. When he pulled back, he smiled grimly. “If it wasn’t for this deal, we probably _would_ have taken this to the grave,” he said softly.

“Yeah,” Dean agreed, nodding slightly, “Probably right.”

Sam kissed him again, slow and gentle and lingering. Their lips pulled apart slowly, saliva and sweat sticking the soft, plush flesh together. They came apart with a slight sucking noise, and Sam’s eyes burned with desire when they did.

“One year,” he rasped.

Dean’s hands dug into his sides, balling up his shirt. He shifted closer, legs spreading wider as he pressed his crotch up against the front of Sam’s jeans. Sam could feel his hard-on through the rough fabric touch against his own and groaned.

“No time to waste,” Dean said huskily.

“Whore,” Sam blurted, his lips twitching.

“Yours,” Dean said. He was too aroused to joke now. His eyes were heavily, clouded with lust. He ran his hands up Sam’s sides and around his back to press them together, capturing Sam’s lips with his mouth and pressing the front of their jeans together.

Sam broke apart, dipping his head. For the first time since this started, he felt a little guilty. Maybe because it was the first time had Dean kissed _him_ , but he wasn’t sure.

“We’re going to hell,” he said, trying to sound nonchalant and doing a lousy job of it.

“Maybe, but not for this,” Dean said. Sam was quiet, not saying anything, but the look on his face said that he clearly disagreed. “Love ain’t evil, Sammy.”

It took a beat for Sam to believe him.

“No, okay, maybe not,” he agreed, “But you _are_ going to hell.”

“Yeah, well…” Dean didn’t know what to say to that. So he half-shrugged, like it was no big deal.

“I’m sick of your pretend macho-bullshit, Dean,” Sam said. He sounded angry, his voice hard.

“You’re ruining the mood, Sammy,” Dean shot back, equally annoyed.

“Yeah, well _you_ ruined—” Sam broke off, sighing heavily. “Sorry,” he said.

Sam stared at the worn grain of the desk, tracing the scars in the wood with his deep hazel eyes.

“We’ve seen better days, huh?” Sam said, starting agin, “Like this old piece of junk?” He gestured to the desk.

“Still a beautiful piece of wood, Sammy,” Dean said. Sam’s eyes flickered up to meet Dean’s flirty, teasing smile. Dean looked down at the wood between them pointedly, drawing a startled bark of laughter from Sam.

“Is your dick seriously the only thing you can think about right now?” Sam asked him, incredulous.

“I’ve got a year to live, Sammy, I ain’t dead yet,” Dean pointed out.

Sam grew quiet again, looking away.

“Sorry,” Dean said in a rush. His brother sighed, “Look, can we just forget the macabre bullshit for now and just have a little fun?” he asked.

Dean very pointedly grabbed Sam’s bulge in his palm, squeezing it.

Sam sucked in his breath sharply. He grabbed Dean’s hand with his own, covering it and following its movements as Dean palmed him through his jeans.

Dean reached up and unbuttoned Sam’s pants, zipping down the zipper and sliding two hands under the band of his boxers.

Sam’s breath hitched and he leaned into the touch, eyes fluttering closed as he braced his weight against the desk with his arms and pressed up, lifting to his tip-toes to get as close to Dean as he could.

“Now who’s the whore,” Dean chuckled, kissing at his neck. His strong hands stroked Sam’s cock and fingered his balls, using the soft cotton of his underwear as part of the show so that one side of his cock was pressed against the fabric and Dean’s hand was behind it, stroking.

“Oh God, Dean,” Sam moaned.

“Like that, huh?” Dean breathed into the crook of his neck.

“So good,” Sam forced out, panting.

Then Dean’s hands were gone, leaving Sam gasping with want.

“Dean!” Sam blurted in protest.

Dean’s hands were under his shirt, lifting it up over his abs. Sam lifted his arms and shook his head to rid himself of the soft cotton fabric. Dean tossed it to the floor and slid his hands up Sam’s abs to his chest.

Sam’s hands went under Dean’s shirt now, wanting to feel his brother’s strong back muscles, the perfect sculpture of his abs and chest as well. He tugged the shirt off of Dean and tossed it onto the floor, right on top of his own.

Dean’s hands were under his pants again, stroking. Sam kissed him, moaning as he grew harder. Dean breathed into him, kissing him and breathing his air like it was the most natural way to live.

Sam trailed kisses down his face, under his jaw, and along his neck to his collarbone. He kept going south, along Dean’s sternum, and then across to his pec.

He circled his tongue around Dean’s right nipple, sucking it into his mouth.

Dean let out a loud moan and jerked forward, his hands losing their grip on Sam’s cock. The band of Sam’s boxers snapped against his skin as Dean’s hands flew up to grip his sides, fingers digging into the hard muscles of his abs while Sam circled and sucked at his nipple.

“Good God, Sammy,” Dean panted, moaning again. His hips jerked forward of their own accord. Dean trembled, half attempting to push Sam away, but there was no strength in his arms so his forearms just bulged out instead.

“Like that?” Sam asked against his tender flesh, breaking contact.

“Not some chick, Sammy,” Dean protested, gasping. His shoulder was pressed against the length of Sam’s neck, dipped in and hunched over as if protecting himself from Sam’s mouth even as he pressed his hard nipples against Sam’s warm, smooth chest. Sam chuckled. He brought his hands up to Dean’s nipples and thumbed their soft hardness, slapping Dean’s hands away when he tried to drag them from the sensitive skin.

“Had me fooled,” Sam teased. Dean’s hands raised again and Sam grabbed them with one of his Sasquatch-like paws, holding both of Dean’s—hardly thin—wrists in one hand so that he could tease and flick at Dean’s nipple with the other. Dean moaned loudly.

“Damnit, Sammy,” he growled, trying real hard to sound actually angry.

“Admit it, Dean, you like it,” Sam said. He dipped down again, squeezing Dean’s wrists in his grip and circling his nipple again with the tip of his tongue. Dean squirmed under him, shivering and panting with lust. A mangled sound escaped from deep in his throat.

Sam moved to the left side, treating the soft nipple there as he had the other. He bit down with his teeth—just hard enough to twinge but not hard enough to actually hurt. Dean jerked under him, letting out an anguished moan. He let out a string of illegible curses between short puffs of breath, and Sam caught the words “Bitch” and “God” and “Sammy”.

“Like it when I manhandle you, Dean?” Sam asked softly against Dean’s tender skin.

Dean couldn’t answer, just gasped and struggled against Sam’s grip on his wrists.

“Freakish how big you are,” Dean said, bitingly.

“That so?” Sam asked. He brought Dean’s hands down to the front of his pants. The way he had Dean’s wrists pressed together opened them like a claw. Sam pressed them into his hardened cock, whispering in Dean’s ear. “Do it, Dean,” he uttered, licking the rim of Dean’s ear, “Jack me off like a good boy.”

A gurgle escaped Dean’s throat. His eyes fluttered closed and Sam could feel his fingers trembling as they searched blindly for Sam’s cock. Dean’s range of motion was still mostly blocked by Sam’s large hand, and he had to strain against Sam’s grip to find his cock under all that bunched fabric.

Sam exhaled loudly in Dean’s ear when they did, his hand moving with Dean’s as Dean jerked him off. His other hand pressed into the grain and grit of the desk, lifting his weight from his feet so that he could lean into Dean’s touch.

Sam buried his face in the side of Dean’s neck, breathing into him and biting hard at his open skin.

Dean moaned again and shook under him, shivering from the pain and pleasure that Sam branded into his skin.

Sam’s resolve faltered, his desire split in two. He wanted to keep Dean in his large grip, unable to fight against his will, but he also wanted to grab Dean’s face and kiss him so deeply he moaned all the way down into Sam’s stomach.

Sam’s fingers tickled the edge of the grease rag Dean had thrown on the desk. It wasn’t rope, but it would do.

He grabbed the cloth under his fingers, drawing it into his fist and jerked his hips as Dean gave an especially violent tug. He moaned, already anticipating the loss of what he was about to do before he dragged Dean’s arms up and shoved them back over his head and against the cool glass of the mirror.

Dean was panting, his eyes heavy and his lips parted. Sam kissed him, shoving his tongue inside. Wild and hungry, Dean responded.

Brain firing to remind him of his intentions, Sam raised the hand with the grease rag and deftly wrapped it around Dean’s wrists, grabbing both ends before Dean could break free. The rag was grimy and gritty against the light tan of Dean’s forearms. Sam tied it in a complicated knot—one of the ones dad had taught Dean as a kid which Dean had then taught him—leaving smudges of grease on the undersides of Dean’s arms before he finished.

Dean looked at him hungrily, numbly, like he wanted to ask what Sam was doing but was too aroused to form coherent thought. Sam finished the knot and jerked it tight, bringing Dean’s bound wrists back down. He ducked under the circle of Dean’s arms and gripped a hand under Dean’s thigh, the other hand under the opposite side of Dean’s firm, round ass. He squeezed and pulled them closer, crushing his mouth and teeth and tongue to Dean’s plush, pretty-boy lips.

Dean groaned, bare chest pressed against Sam’s and trapped by the circle of his own arms. Sam’s fingers went to his belt, pulling at the leather and then rushing to unbutton and zip down Dean’s pants.

His hands slid under the rough cotton from behind and he pulled them down around Dean’s thighs, jostling him up under strong hands so that he could push Dean’s pants to his knees. He did the same to his own, hurrying and huffing against Dean’s lips as he did.

Dean teased him with his tongue, taking advantage of Sam’s brief—and yes, pun intended—situation by running his tongue along Sam’s open lips.

“Oh, God Dean,” Sam breathed into his mouth. Dean’ s opened wider in response to his hunger and Sam captured it hungrily, moaning into it.

He broke apart and swept everything on the desk to the floor with one long trunk of an arm. 

Dean’s arms were still around his neck, bound by the greasy cloth and pressing them together so that Sam all but fell into his chest when he gripped Dean in the middle of his lower back and leaned him back against the length of the desk—against the grain and the grit running along its scarred surface.

“So beautiful,” he breathed into Dean’s mouth.

“Slut,” Dean uttered.

Sam just smiled and grinned into him, capturing again with his lips and thrusting his tongue into Dean’s mouth. He ran his tongue along the underside of Dean’s top lip, feeling them tremble as Dean’s head leaned back and his mouth widened to allow Sam access.

Sam sucked at his bottom lip, pulling it back between his teeth and letting out a low, feral growl deep in his chest.

“Gonna fuck you right here on this desk,” Sam said, dragging his lips and teeth against the length of Dean’s jaw and down his flushed and sweat-damp neck. He sucked into the hollow at its base, knowing it would leave a mark.

“Do it,” Dean panted, groaning as Sam’s lips sucked at his neck, “Fuck me, Sammy.”

Sam ducked out from under the circle of Dean’s bound wrists and pressed them over Dean’s head, exposing the hard, pale undersides of his arms and the light curls just under his armpits. His other hand wormed between Dean’s legs. He pressed a finger to Dean’s hole.

“How bad to you want it, Dean?” he asked huskily.

There was fire in Sam’s eyes, dark and dangerous and tempting. Dean’s fluttered closed and his whole body trembled, his head falling back to the desk in anticipation of what was to come. He was torn between lust and desire and his utter terror at being pried open by Sam’s well-endowed manhood.

“Give me a minute,” he forced out, licking his lips. He looked to the heavens, squeezing his eyes shut agian. When he opened them and looked at Sam, the fire had ebbed from his brother’s eyes. They still smoldered, but it was a tender light, not the inferno that had raged just a moment before.

“We don’t have to,” Sam said quietly.

“No, I want to,” Dean rushed in to say. He licked his lips again. “Just—you know, be gentle.”

“First time?” Sam teased, grinning down at him.

“Shut up,” Dean blurted. Sam saw the fire light in his brother’s eyes now that his pride was pricked. “I ain’t some prissy girl, Sammy, I can take it.” Even as he said it, Dean glanced down to Sam’s large, hardened cock with trepidation. He gulped nervously.

“That so?” Sam asked, raising an eyebrow. He wanted his brother more than ever, but he was also _loving_ this chance to tease the pants off him—literally. Dean’s denims were still bunched around his knees. Sam took a moment to slip them the rest of the way off and toss them to the floor along with their two shirts.

“Yeah, well, maybe if you didn’t have me trussed up like a damn Christmas Goose,” Dean said with a scowl. He attempted to grab the knot Sam worked into his bonds with his teeth but Sam knocked his hands away before he could.

“Don’t do that, it’s gross,” Sam said. “I don’t want to taste engine oil on your tongue, Dean.”

“My baby tastes great,” Dean shot back with a grin. Sam rolled his eyes. He would bet his last dollar that—yes—Dean had tried _that_ before. But then, Dean’s Impala was a great way to tease his brother.

“Are you saying,” Sam said in his most silky, flirty voice, “That you would rather have the _car_ right now, than _me_ between your legs?” He grinned up at Dean from that exact spot, letting out a deep exhale on Dean’s hard cock. Sam hovered over it, just breathing warmly and making Dean squirm with desire.

“Hell no,” Dean said, then realized he was playing right into Sam’s trap. “I mean, yes. God, Sammy, don’t make me choose between the two of you,” he pleaded, his deep green eyes pained.

Sam laughed and moved up so that he could grin down into his brother’s face. “Oh my god, Dean, chill the fuck out. I was kidding.”

“I know that,” Dean said gruffly. He shifted his weight under Sam, indignant as always when his pride was ruffled like this.

“It’s just a car, Dean,” Sam teased.

“It’s not just a car!” Dean shot back.

Sam kissed him then, long and deep, pressing their chests together against the grain of the solid oak desk.

“And I’m not just a brother,” Sam whispered as he pulled away.

“No,” Dean admitted, his voice hush and gravely.

Sam kissed him again.

“Love you, Dean,” he said, his breath hot against Dean’s lips.

“Love you too, Sammy,” Dean replied automatically.

The next kiss was slow and languid and deep and tender and all the other chick-flick descriptions Sam could conjure in his mind that he knew Dean loved to make fun of. He basked in his brother’s warm mouth, in the irony pressing them together on the hard wood underneath.

Dean squirmed.

“Couldn’t we do it on the bed?” he complained.

“What are you, an old man?” Sam retorted.

“It’s hard,” Dean whined.

“You’re hard,” Sam replied.

He dragged an open-mouth kiss down Dean’s chest and navel to the tip of his cock. He licked the head, glancing up at his brother’s wide, green eyes before swallowing him whole.

Dean moaned and rose up under him, his bound hands burying themselves deep in Sam’s long, silky-chestnut hair.

Sam dipped and sucked and twisted his tongue around Dean’s cock, humming deep in his throat and knowing he was driving Dean crazy. If there was one thing Dean loved more than his car—more than Sammy—then it was getting his dick sucked.

Dean was panting and groaning and twisting Sam’s hair painfully as Sam kept a slow rhythm. Sam knew he wanted it fast and dirty, but that wasn’t the way he wanted to play this. Also, he loved teasing his older brother.

“Damnit, Sammy,” Dean growled, pushing Sam’s head down. Sam just grabbed his hands away and pinned them to his navel as he continued to suck. He heard Dean’s head hit the surface of the desk with a loud _thud_. “Quit—stop messing with me, Sammy,” he pleaded.

“You want me to stop?” Sam asked, looking up at his brother with what he hoped were a perfect set of round, innocent doe-eyes. He batted his eyelashes twice.

Dean looked at him in disgust and growled in frustration.

“You are infuriating as fuck, you know that?” he said with derision.

“Yeah, but you love me,” Sam teased incessantly.

“Pain in my ass,” Dean shot back.

“Not yet,” Sam replied.

Dean gulped at that. _Not yet._

Perfect timing. Sam covered Dean’s cock with his mouth again, picking up the pace just slightly to appease his brother—but also so that he could worm a finger into his ass.

Dean gasped loudly and moaned, thrusting his hips up into Sam’s mouth. Sam used the distraction to slip another finger in. He worked deeper, stretching Dean’s hole as he searched for the spot he knew every man had. Dean groaned, a mixture of pain and pleasure and pent-up tension.

Sam worked him hard now, mouth thrusting down around Dean’s cock as his fingers jammed up into his ass. He slipped in a third and moved even faster, feeling Dean’s orgasm coming like static before the lightning strike.

Dean’s breath was coming in short puffs now, in between the most wanton and frankly girly noises Sam had ever heard coming from his mouth. He released Dean’s hands and reached up with his arm, groping with his fingers until he found Dean’s lips. Then he slipped two of them into Dean’s mouth, pressing them to his tongue and into the back of his throat.

He felt the moan rumble up from Dean’s chest and reverberate down his forearm. Dean’s lips closed around his fingers and sucked, his head dipping back and forward as Sam slid them deeper down his throat. He felt it close around him as Dean nearly gagged but checked it, drawing Sam’s fingers deeper down and tonging the palm of his hand.

Then Dean’s hips jerked as he came, and Sam quickly sucked off to replace fingers with tongue and mouth with fingers as he stroked the rest of Dean’s cum from his hard cock. He thrust his tongue deep into Dean’s throat and his fingers deep into Dean’s ass and breathed in the wild scent of his orgasm.

Dean collapsed limp against the desk, huffing as Sam broke the kiss and pressed his lips to the side of Dean’s face. His fingers still inside Dean, he grabbed his own half-hard cock and stroked, brushing pre-cum along its tip and base to slicken it up. It rose easily, ready and waiting. Sam positioned Dean under him, lining them up. Then, in one quick movement, he replaced fingers with dick and thrust up deep into Dean’s belly.

The husky scream that escaped Dean’s lips almost made him come right then and there, and Sam caught it just in time. He stilled, waiting until he felt Dean relax around him. He entwined his arm around Dean’s middle, around his back to levy some of his weight off the desk, and then began to move slowly, thighs pressing into the hard wood of the desk.

“God, Sammy,” Dean moaned, his voice strained with a mixture of pain and pleasure. His cock was already half-hard again, even though it would be some time before he’d be ready to come again. Sam thrust into him again—harder this time, and let out his own moan of passion.

“God, Dean, you feel so good around me,” Sam said, throwing his head back and jerking forward. He wasn’t going to last long. Just as well, because he was slowly shoving Dean off the opposite end of the desk. Dean realized this and gripped the edge of the desk to anchor himself.

“Finish it, Sammy!” He ordered, and really, it was so like him to take control now—despite the position he was in, despite his hands being bound, and Sam’s dick up his ass.

That did it. Sam let out a strangled moan and jerked forward, coming hot and quick in Dean’s ass. He thrust slowly once—twice—three more times, riding the orgasm as long as he could before he was forced to collapse breathlessly on top of Dean. He pressed wet, open-mouthed kisses to Dean’s slick chest, panting heavily.

Dean gave him a minute, then nudged Sam with his hips.

“I’m falling off here, Sammy,” he said, sounding a little annoyed.

Sam looked up at him, dazed and open mouthed and slowly it dawned on him what his brother meant. He pulled Dean down the length of the desk until his head rested on the old, grainy wood.

“Hot, Sammy,” Dean said, “But maybe we can try the bed next time.”

“Such a girl, Dean,” Sam teased. He thought back to the noises he’d drawn from that pretty-boy mouth and grinned.

Dean flushed, knowing exactly what he was remembering.

“Shut up,” he snapped. Dean’s cheeks burned with embarrassment. “Am not.”

“Are too,” Sam argued.

“Bitch.”

“Pussy.”

Dean growled and rolled his hips, shoving at Sam with his bound hands. “G’off me.”

“Sure thing, Princess,” Sam replied, complying.

He rose up off the desk to hover over his brother’s naked form. Dean rolled into a sitting position, Sam’s large hand helping him up. Sam would have untied him, if he thought his brother wasn’t going to clock him one if he did.

Dean gave a little snort and looked at him, annoyed. He knew exactly what Sam was thinking. “Come on, Sam, untie me. I promise not to hit you,” he said.

Sam chuckled a little, surprised by how well they knew one another. He did as Dean asked, working away the greasy rag and tossing it to the floor. Dean rubbed his wrists, where dark streaks of oil and car grease were smudged onto his golden skin. Sam, entranced, grabbed one of them and brought it to his mouth, pressing his lips against the dirty skin and dragging his tongue across it.

Dean snorted again. “Thought you didn’t like the taste of my baby,” he teased.

Sam shook his head a little, his eyes closed in ecstasy as he tasted his brother’s skin.

“ _Love_ the taste of _my_ baby,” he murmured.

_End_


End file.
